Relax and Let Go
by forever-a-thief
Summary: Steve is exhausted and, in true stubborn super soldier form, refuses to admit it. Bruce and Natasha decide to take the situation into their own hands. (A character's first introduction to age play.)


They had been out on not two, not three, but _four_ back-to-back missions in the last week, and that was excessive even for Steve's standards. He was also fairly sure he had only gotten about two hours of sleep in the past seven days. At this point, he thought it might be fair to call him more of a zombie than a soldier.

He shuffled through debrief (the very long, annoying, agonizing debrief that seemed to have no end in sight) in a daze, then pushed the others off to their rooms, and finally collapsed on his own bed.

No matter how much he tossed and turned and thumped his pillow and groaned and whined in frustration at the unfairness of it all, Steve could not fall asleep.

He tried. Really, he did. But after two hours of nothing, he admitted he was too wound up to do any relaxing and decided to head down to the gym to burn off some extra energy. Maybe then he could just pass out from exhaustion.

He stepped onto the elevator and was deposited in the gym, heading straight for the punching bags. He lost himself in the motions; pivot, punch, here, there, duck, to the side. Time passed, and he hadn't realized just how much until he heard the door ping open once more and Natasha was standing there, looking well-rested but also _very_ unhappy with him. Her eyes were burning and her hair was a halo of fire around her head as she stormed up to him, grabbed him by the ear, and yanked him back into the elevator.

Steve would deny the indignant squeak that escaped when she tugged on his ear until he was blue in the face, but for now, the pain and shock was enough that he just let her tug him along wherever it was they were going. He wasn't even really sure why she was so angry with him.

When the elevator pinged once more and he peeked up enough to recognize the table and the half-eaten dinner sitting there as his own, he realized she had dragged him back to his rooms. He grumbled to himself, trying to tug out of her grasp, but she was tenacious.

She stopped at his couch and Steve glanced up, wondering what she was up to. When he looked though, he realized that she wasn't the only one in the room. His face heated up, a hot flash of red streaking across his cheeks when he noticed Bruce sitting there in one of his armchairs, looking slightly amused but mostly worried. Bruce was just _sitting there_ , watching Steve be manhandled by the ear into a seat like a misbehaving little kid.

"Nat? What was that about?" he groaned, rubbing at his ear as she _finally_ released it. Natasha didn't answer, but when Steve glared up at her, he saw her face and instantly felt his glower waver. She looked worried and sad, and Natasha _never_ let her emotions show that clearly unless something was really wrong. "Nat?" he asked, hating how small his voice sounded in the too-quiet room.

Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked like she might reach out to him, but seemed to think better of it before turning to look at Bruce pleadingly. Bruce nodded calmly toward Steve, his eyes on Natasha, and she nodded back, taking up a position beside his chair. When her long fingers threaded through Steve's short hair, scratching at his scalp and tugging at his roots, Steve couldn't help but jump. Just what did she think she was doing? He knew for a fact that she didn't like people touching her, and she had the same aversion to touching others.

"What is going on?" he asked again, some steel creeping into his tone. What were they playing at? Natasha's fingers tightened in warning, tugging at his hair until he backed down, biting his lip as he tried to glance between Bruce and Natasha. He was starting to freak out a little, but when the strokes through his hair turned light and sweet once more, he felt himself relaxing enough to meet Bruce's eyes full on.

"Thank you for calming down," Bruce said quietly, giving Steve a small, proud smile. Bruce paused then, leaning forward to link his fingers together, holding his chin up and looking deep in thought. After a few tense moments, he flicked his gaze up to meet Steve's eyes and sighed. Bruce did that a lot; he got fed up with them and sighed before he would stomp from the room in exasperation. Steve just wasn't sure what he had done this time to make Bruce so disappointed in him. The churning feeling in his stomach at the thought wasn't soothed by Natasha's calm ministrations, though he was starting to believe that had been the point. He squirmed in his spot, the entirety of Bruce's disappointment weighing down on him. It made his exhaustion feel like a tangible thing, resting heavily on his shoulders.

"Steve, when we get back from a mission, what's the first thing you do?"

Bruce's question was simple, but it confused Steve. Everyone knew what Steve did after a mission; it was pretty common knowledge. "When we get back: well, we have debrief, we all eat, and then we each go our own way. But you guys know this, why are you asking?"

Bruce took his glasses off and rubbed them against his shirt, breathing even and slow as he seemed to put his words together. With his glasses back on his face, he continued. "That's not all you do, Steve. You watch out for us. Kid, you take care of everybody else, but you never take care of yourself. You make sure Tony gets out of his lab and actually eats and sleeps like a normal person. You make sure I get enough food after I've transformed back; that I've got some clothes waiting for me. You personally check Nat and Clint over for injuries, because you know they aren't the most honest about that. You look after all of us beautifully, _really_. That's just it, though. Who's looking out for you?"

Steve felt something constrict in his chest. No one had looked out for him since Bucky had died. He had taken his care into his own hands, and look what that had gotten him. Crashed in a plane with a bunch of bombs and frozen for seventy years. Steve knew Bruce didn't mean to make it sound like he couldn't look after himself, but that's how it kept bouncing around in his mind. That Bruce thought maybe Steve wasn't a good enough leader, a good enough _person_ to even look after himself.

Since he had woken up, this was all he had. He didn't have Bucky at his side, or Peggy, or the other Commandos. He had himself and that was it. Steve had thought he was doing okay taking care of himself, but apparently not.

Without betraying these thoughts, Steve set his face in stony determination. "I do fine on my own, thanks." Nat's fingers in his hair tightened once more, and then she was down on the arm of his chair, tugging him against her chest and wrapping her other arm around his shoulders. He shook at the sudden, unexpected contact; he hadn't had a hug in years, and it was shattering some of his resolve in this situation.

She crooned quiet Russian in his ear, trying to calm him down, to keep his mind open. His eyes fluttered shut, fighting back tears. His mother used to do that, hold him close and whisper Gaelic nothings in his ear as he coughed up blood or shook from the chills on his sickbed. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her until this moment.

"It's alright, Steve," she promised, rubbing big circles on his back, her forehead pressed against his temple as he struggled to drag in breaths.

"You don't have to do this alone, Steve," Bruce said softly, and when Steve looked, the doctor was kneeling in front of his chair. He looked so damn invested, like he really did care. Steve hadn't felt that in _years_. "We want to help. You're our friend, and we can't just watch our friend burn himself out like this."

"I'm fine," Steve whispered, his words cracking around the edges, his voice small and quiet. His resolve was crumbling so fast that he couldn't believe it had ever been that strong to begin with. Maybe it was just the severe sleep deprivation and exhaustion that was making him so weak.

"No, you're not," Bruce said simply, reaching out to cup Steve's cheek in his palm. Even though he was confused and shocked at the gesture, Steve felt himself melting into the touch. "But that's okay. We can help. Will you let us?" Steve took in a shaky breath. They were his friends, and they wanted to help him. Why was he being such a jerk about it? They were giving up their own recovery time to try and help him, and he was practically spitting in their faces.

He bit his lip, not trusting himself to speak. They wanted to help; who was he to tell them no? So he nodded, slow and uncertain, and felt Natasha slip off of the arm of the chair, moving to Bruce's side and snatching his hand up with hers. Steve followed them with his eyes, not sure what they wanted from him.

He was just so _tired_.

Noticing his uncertainty right away, Bruce came forward once more and crouched down in front of Steve, dropping Natasha's hand as he went. He braced his hands on Steve's knees and stroked his thumbs over his bony kneecaps, stubby strong fingers kneading at the tense muscles there. Bruce's smile was kind. Steve knew Bruce was kind, probably the kindest of them all; why that was suddenly striking him as a very important fact didn't really make sense to him.

"Would it make you feel better if you knew what we were planning to do to help?" Steve's enthusiastic nod made a chuckle ripple from Bruce's lips and Steve stared at him, a tiny smile of his own on his face. Bruce rarely smiled or laughed; they were to be cherished when he let himself be comfortable enough to let one out. "We're going to get you some food, wash you up, maybe read a bit of a book to unwind, and then get you in bed. Nothing too out there, all right?"

Steve bit his lip, but nodded along. Honestly, he had tuned out after the mention of food; he could practically feel his stomach starting to eat itself. As if to back him up, his stomach gurgled unhappily, and Steve blushed, peeking up at Bruce through his lashes. Bruce smiled serenely and sat back on his heels, giving Steve one more long, examining look.

Steve still felt uncertain as he watched Bruce stand, wincing at his popping knees. Without a word, Bruce reached down and took Steve's hand, leading him into the kitchen, and Steve followed like a limp rag doll. His previous meal had been shoved in the trash and Natasha must have scrounged something together while he and Bruce were talking, because there were three sandwiches sitting at his spot at the table, just waiting for him.

Steve sat down without protest, digging in enthusiastically. Bruce chuckled from the doorway, watching him fondly with Natasha at his side. That made Steve slightly self-conscious, his face heating up uncomfortably, and he decided to slow down. His face screwed up in a slight scowl as he peeked up at his teammates.

Once he was finished with his dinner, Bruce appeared at his elbow once more. "Come on, kiddo," he said lightly, tugging Steve along to the bathroom. At this point, Steve was practically swaying on his feet. He was so tired after burning off most of the adrenaline in his system. He blinked sleepily at Bruce, confusion evident on his face.

"I'm twenty-seven," Steve said grumpily, blinking through the haze of exhaustion at the doctor.

"And I'm forty-six. Look at that, old enough to be your dad." Bruce busied himself filling up the tub. Steve was staring at him confusion. A bath? Well, he supposed the whole point of them being here was to make him relax enough to sleep, so he supposed a bath would do that better than a shower. But, still. A bath? Looking around, he realized that Natasha had disappeared somewhere, he wasn't really sure. He mulled over what Bruce had said and shuffled uncomfortably next to the kneeling doctor. What were they playing at? He understood they wanted to help him relax and actually get some sleep, but this seemed to be taking it a step further. As if they really thought he couldn't take care of himself, like he really was a little kid.

"Bruce? What is this, really?" He saw the copious amounts of bubbles springing to life, as well as the brightly colored bath toys on the side of the tub that surely hadn't been there a few hours ago. Bruce looked at Steve over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow as if that was a stupid question.

"We're getting you a bath and then you're going to bed, because you have to be dead on your feet by now." He reached into the water and felt the temperature, then waved for Steve to come closer. "Don't just stand there, bud. The water will get cold." And then Bruce was standing, unbuttoning Steve's shirt with deft fingers. Steve froze, eyes wide and shocked.

"What?" he choked out, back pedaling away from Bruce. The bathroom wasn't _that_ big though, and Steve only had three steps before he was running into the sink.

Bruce breathed out another little sigh before raising his hands in the universal signal for _calm down_. "It's okay, kiddo. Just come here. You need to get clean, and then you can go to bed. It's not a big deal."

"I can take a bath by myself," Steve grumbled, inching away from Bruce's grabby fingers.

"I know you can, Steve. But right now you're swaying pretty badly. If I left you here on your own, you'd probably fall asleep in the tub. Now, let's get you in there before it gets cold. Okay?"

And God, but that made so much sense. Steve shifted unhappily, shucking his shirt in one move before kicking his jeans off, too. When he was nearly naked, he glanced back up at Bruce, but the doctor was busy doing something in the water. He wasn't paying any attention, so Steve shucked his boxers and practically hopped into the water, splashing water over the edge and right onto where Bruce was kneeling.

A sudden terror overcame Steve, and a million reactions flew through his mind. Bruce would Hulk out. Bruce would hit him. Bruce would yell at him. Bruce would do _something_ , because a grown man does not splash you with that much water without some kind of violent retribution.

As Steve stared wide-eyed at Bruce through the protection of his fingers, Bruce looked surprised for a tiny moment before he started laughing. Steve flinched; he had not expected that, but it might almost be worse than the others. Steve was too tired not to make a giant fool of himself. Of course Bruce would laugh at that.

"Someone was excited," Bruce said fondly, running his fingers through Steve's hair. Steve peeked out from behind his fingers, confused and nervous. Bruce seemed to have already moved on, though. He was readying a cup with some water, and told Steve to tilt his head back. Steve obeyed, his stomach twisting happily when Bruce said how good he was being. He had to stomp the feeling down though; it wasn't something he should get used to. People usually only told him he was doing good when he was knocking Hydra skulls together or being a good little soldier, like they expected him to. It always left a bad taste in his mouth. But when Bruce said it, over nothing more than sitting still while he washed his hair, his stomach squirmed with something he hadn't felt in a long time, surely not since his mother had died.

As Bruce soaped up Steve's hair, Steve tried to help and started scrubbing at his skin. After a few minutes, his skin was red and splotchy but undeniably clean. Bruce looked over his handiwork with a tiny frown, worry lines stretching across his face. He ducked down to meet Steve's eyes, saying very carefully and clearly, "Next time, Steve, I don't want you to rub yourself so raw. That hurts your skin. We don't want you to hurt." Steve nodded wide-eyed, feeling all of two years old under Bruce's gentle gaze. It was like he was scolding a little kid.

To temper his admonishment, Bruce leaned down and dropped a large yellow rubber duck into the water right in front of Steve. The younger man stared at it, not quite sure what he was expected to do with it. In his research into all the pop culture he had missed since being put on ice, he had come across images of rubber duckies. Of course he had. He had even listened to the song from Sesame Street. He knew it was something children played with, but he wasn't quite sure what _he_ was supposed to do with it. With a confused scowl on his face, he held it under the water and squeezed, letting out a soft exhale of surprise when it squeaked and bubbles floated up to the surface. With a tiny smile, he pulled it up to the surface and squeezed again, laughing when water spurted from the duck's mouth. He could see how this would entertain children.

Bruce watched Steve investigate the toy and used his distraction to finish washing his hair. After Bruce rinsed the soap from Steve's hair, he took one last look at the younger man. "Sorry, bud. It's time to get out." Steve's head jerked up in shock, reaching up to his hair as if trying to figure out when Bruce had found the time to wash it. With a self-conscious smile, Steve nodded and waited until Bruce pulled the drain to attempt to stand. Bruce reached out with a strong arm to help Steve stumble out of the tub, and Steve was so shaky that he allowed it without a second thought. There was a big, fluffy towel waiting for him and Bruce wasted no time wrapping it around Steve's body, cocooning him with a smile. The older man started walking out into the bedroom, and Steve shuffled after him, trying to keep his head on straight.

"Come here, Stevie," Bruce crooned lightly, waving Steve over to the dresser. Steve shuffled closer, standing at Bruce's elbow and waiting patiently, his traitorous blush making another appearance. Bruce produced some soft flannel pajamas, things that Steve knew hadn't come from his own dresser. When he pointed this out, Bruce waved him off. "Nat and me, we knew this would happen eventually. We've been stocking up. Come on, they're really comfy." Steve went through the motions of dressing himself, Bruce helping minimally, mostly there to make sure Steve didn't brain himself if he stumbled.

Natasha appeared again, a story book in hand. She turned down Steve's bed while he finished getting himself ready, then tugged him down beside her. Bruce tucked the blankets in around Steve, running a hand over the top blanket once he was finished, looking far too fond.

Natasha took over his attention then, shuffling through the pages before settling. It was a book of fairy tales, and Steve found himself easily distracted by the words. Steve couldn't remember the last time his ma had had enough time to tell him a story before bed. He might have been four? Maybe younger? Bucky had loved reading out loud to him, when they had had enough cash left over to buy cheap novels and paperbacks.

Bruce was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking his thumb over Steve's hip. Natasha was snuggled up next to him, one arm wrapped around Steve's shoulder, rubbing over his arm, and the other was deftly flipping pages. Her voice was quiet and even and lulling, and Steve found himself losing the battle with sleep. Before he dropped off completely, he felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and then Bruce whispering into his ear.

"Goodnight, kiddo."

The next morning, Steve woke feeling more comfortable than he had in months. He stretched, yawned, and rolled over. Had that been a dream, or had that actually happened? When he glanced at his bedside table, sure enough, there sat the book of fairy tales. So, it _had_ actually happened then. Huh.

His face was burning at how he had acted last night. He hadn't even been awake enough to take a bath by himself. Bruce and Natasha had probably had a good long laugh over that. God, he had acted like such a _baby_. His stomach churned with shame.

He shoved his clothes on and stomped out to the kitchen, sure his face was on fire. When he saw Bruce puttering around Steve froze in the doorway. Bruce hadn't noticed him; he was reading the paper and chugging coffee. Maybe if he just backed out he could wait until Bruce decided to leave his apartment? But then Natasha was bumping through the doorway around him.

"Morning, Steve." She grabbed her own cup of coffee while Bruce glanced up, giving Steve a soft smile, before he went back to the paper.

As if _nothing_ had happened last night.

"Can I, uh, ask just what last night was about?" he said tersely, skirting around the other two before settling at the table, far away from Bruce.

Bruce looked confused but shrugged his shoulders. "We helped you relax enough to fall asleep and then we crashed in your guest room?" He said it like it was a question, but he was raising his eyebrows like it was obvious. Steve blushed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yeah, okay. I get that you guys wanted me relaxed enough to sleep, but what was up with all that other stuff? The bath toys and the pajamas and the story and the kisses and names and stuff?" He stuttered over the examples, his cheeks flaming even hotter.

Bruce exchanged a look with Natasha and then pushed on. "Well, did you enjoy it?" he asked, and Steve wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that hadn't been it.

"What?" he asked. Then he actually thought about it. He had spent most of his time with Bruce, and that had been nice. To be the center of someone's attention for such a long amount of time. His father had died before he had been born, and Steve had never really had much of a paternal figure in his life. Suddenly, Bruce's comment about their ages made more sense. Bruce had been _trying_ to act like Steve's father. Slowly, Steve glanced up at them. They didn't look like they were pulling his leg. If anything, they looked a bit nervous themselves.

"I… kind of?" he settled on, wondering just what they had been going for. Was he guessing right? Or was that just where his thoughts had taken him? "What were you aiming for?"

"We were trying to make you feel younger, at an age that being cared for isn't odd. The plan was to get you feeling younger and so more accepting of certain things, like me helping you with your bath, or Nat reading to you, which are both calming activities."

"So the kid thing. That was intentional. I was wondering about that," he admitted, still uncomfortable, but feeling slightly better about the situation.

"Sometimes it helps, letting someone take over for a while. And see, nothing bad happened!" Natasha chirped happily, grinning from ear to ear. Now that Steve hadn't started yelling at them and demanding answers, she seemed closer to her normal self. Steve wasn't sure he liked it when she was fidgety and nervous.

Before Steve could answer, Bruce's phone went off. He glanced at it and then at Nat. "Clint's looking for you." She nodded, setting her coffee down on the counter before coming to stand at Steve's shoulder. She leaned down and pressed a casual kiss to his cheek, stroked his hair, and then stalked out of the room. When the elevator pinged, Steve was alone with Bruce and suddenly feeling very, very shy.

"I, ah, I appreciate what you two did last night. I know I can be stubborn and annoying and don't like to listen," he rambled, fiddling with his fingers on the table. When he peeked up at Bruce, he saw the doctor's face lit up with such fond exasperation that it made Steve's toes curl as a rush of joy overcame him. It was the same feeling he had always gotten when his Ma had looked at him like that.

"You're welcome Steve. If you ever want to do it again, we're always here. If you have trouble sleeping, or have a nightmare, or just want to relax and play for a while, we're here for you." Bruce stood then, taking some purposeful steps to Steve's side of the table. "Does that sound okay?"

Steve nodded, biting his lip as he deliberated his next move. There was something he really wanted to ask, but he didn't want to sound like a baby. It seemed that his choice was yanked away though, because Bruce nudged him with his hip, a smile on his face. "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

"Could I, I mean, before you leave? Could you…, never mind." He flailed his arms in front of himself for a moment, looking away with a tiny blush. Bruce wouldn't let him go that easy, though.

Bruce placed his hand on the nape of Steve's neck and bent down to look him in the eye. "Come on, Steve. You can ask. What would you like?"

Steve sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. God, he could punch and kick and knock down Hydra soldiers all day with a straight face, but God forbid he ask something so simple from one of his friends without worrying over it for eternity. "Can I have a hug?" he finally rushed out, his voice sounding high and squeaky. He winced immediately, hiding his face in his hands. "God, just forget I said anything."

But then Bruce was tugging his fingers away and crouching down beside him, just like the night before. Steve felt like an idiot, curling in on himself as much as possible. "Steve, look at me. Good boy. Of course you can have a hug. You can have a hug _whenever_ you want. You don't even have to ask." And then Bruce was standing again and Steve had no control over himself. He reached out and tugged Bruce flush against himself, burying his face in the doctor's stomach and clinging.

Bruce took it in stride, running a hand through Steve's hair and using the other to rub big circles on Steve's shoulder. "There we go, son. It's alright." Bruce was very good at calming Steve down, even when Steve wasn't really sure why he was freaking out in the first place. He settled in Bruce's arms and something cracked apart in Steve's chest. He felt safe and calm and cared for, and those were all things he had been dearly lacking for years now. If he wanted to sit here and soak it up for a few minutes, then he was entitled, right?

Eventually, though, he had to let go. Steve disentangled himself with a sheepish look, glancing up at Bruce to gauge his reaction. Bruce was practically beaming, though. With one last swipe through his hair, Bruce leaned down and pressed a kiss just where Natasha had earlier, and then started walking out.

"See you later, kiddo." Steve bit his lip, a tiny smile gracing his face. He had never met his father, had never had anything close to a father, but if Bruce wanted to step in and take care of him every now and then, who was he to say no? It wasn't such a bad thing. Besides, it was harmless, and it made Steve feel better. And after everything he had given up, he deserved something that made him feel better. Right?


End file.
